


Master of the Pack

by Angelattes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: But like spirit wolves, Hanzo Shimada has Prosthetic Legs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I mean at first anyway, Jesse McCree is a big softie for animals, Jesse McCree is an outlaw, Lone Wolf Hanzo Shimada, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Survival, Tags Will Probably Change, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wolves, idk what else to put, title may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelattes/pseuds/Angelattes
Summary: "Jesse had always heard stories about the wolves that wandered throughout the forest outside the village and the one who controlled them. He had learned quickly that if you wander into the forest unprepared, you never come out. He had always been skeptical, but the gnawing fear always held him back from seeking out the legend. Now, however, he has no choice. With his face plastered on every post around and a multimillion bounty over his head, he has very few places to go."
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	1. Survival of the Fittest

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely for self-indulgent purposes and writing practice. I have no specific plans for this, but I do want to try and push myself to slowly make chapters longer. Starting point is about 2,000 words, and I will try to work up from there.
> 
> Thank you to my friends who proofread over this. I love you guys!
> 
> Now, without further ado, onto the story!

Jesse had always heard stories about the wolves that wandered throughout the forest outside the village and the one who controlled them. He had learned quickly that if you wander into the forest unprepared, you never come out. He had always been skeptical, but the gnawing fear always held him back from seeking out the legend. Now, however, he has no choice. With his face plastered on every post around and a multimillion bounty over his head, he has very few places to go. It isn't that he doubts his ability to live as Joel Morricone convincingly for a while, but he'll be damned if he lets this mess keep him from having some good adventures. Besides, unlike Joel Morricone, Jesse McCree is not too fond of sitting behind a laptop posting journal entries on how to make sopapillas and mantecados.

The cowboy's spurs rattle with each step under the quiet night moon, the chilly air hitting his exposed face. One hand rests on his trusty Peacekeeper while the other holds his gaudy serape close to his body in a mostly successful attempt to block the cold. The trees rustle around him and the moonbeams only do so much to aid his eyes in the dark forest. He treads slowly, feeling stressed enough to discard his hold on his serape to instead light a cigarillo and pinch it between his teeth. Smoke puffs from his lips and blows from his nostrils like the fire of a dragon as he lifts his lighter to see just a little better. Unfortunately, the small flame hardly bears enough light for his eyes to see more than large, vague shapes.

With lack of sight comes heightened hearing and awareness. The crunching of leaves below his boots is much more apparent, along with the chirping of crickets and the scent of oaks. It seems so serene and harmless even in the dead of night.

The darkness cannot wave away the aura of suspicion rising in the pit of the cowboy's belly, however. He glances around and slows his pace to quiet the noises the brush naturally makes beneath his boots. He feels the presence of something, and he tries to chalk it up to just being animals, but with the legend echoing in the back of his skull and the wolves that he knows run rampant throughout these woods, he gets a little worried.

His fears settle as he continues his blind trek for about an hour. That feeling of being watched never completely leaves, but it dampens and he manages to mostly ignore it. That is, until he hears a low growl to his left. His hand naturally goes to Peacekeeper at his hip, ready to draw his weapon and duel whatever foe wishes to start a brawl. Everything falls quiet. His hand stays near his gun, waiting for something to happen. It never comes. Slowly, he starts to walk again only to crash onto the moist ground by some unknown weight. His breath is knocked out of him and his cigarillo and lighter fly to the ground. Only after reaching up to push his assailant off does he feel it between his fingers; fur. Then he opens his eyes that he had not realised were closed and sees a pair of oculi staring back at him in golden yellow, almost glowing with a white ring around the pupils from the moon's reflection. This animal is dangerous and can kill him in an instant. Before he can even think the barrel of his gun is pressed to the creature’s jaw.

He cannot pull the trigger.

Despite the threat of a painful death, Jesse simply cannot kill the beast on him. He can hear another growl from nearby as the white wolf above him snaps its teeth at his face and pricks his nose with those small, sharp fangs at the very front of its muzzle.

Everything next is a blur. The gunslinger holsters Peacekeeper and uses his raw strength to roll the canine off of his chest, stumbling back.

"Hey now, partner, hold your horses, why don't'cha?" He drawls, holding his flesh palm out with his fingers loosely splayed. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small bag of beef jerky. So much for breakfast in the morning. He takes a piece out and tears it in half, kneeling to the dirt and offering it to the wolf with his cybernetic hand. At least if the canine decides to sink its teeth into the metal, he won't feel it too much.

The wolf gazes at him and only approaches after a few seconds, teeth still bared in case Jesse does decide to hurt it. He doesn't, so it snatches the meat from his fingers with a snarl and runs off, its twin from the sidelines following suit.

Jesse's heart hammers relentlessly in his chest and his mouth feels dry, but it is not from thirst. He stands, his thighs quaking just enough for him to trip before reaching his full height.

"I tell ya... Those are some weird animals," he murmurs to himself, tipping the brim of his Stetson up. He can already tell it will be a long night and a longer day ahead, but he doesn't stop quite yet. He needs to go deeper before he can rest, away from the wolves and away from his formerly beloved hometown.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Jesse settles down for the night. He lowers down beneath one of the many large trees around him, hoping to catch some of the shade once the sun emerges over the horizon. Finding solace in his thoughts, he curls up, using his serape as a blanket, and moves his hat to cover his face. It takes a little while of milling over the events of the day, of the last week and month and year that led up to this, before he finally nods off.

\--

The sun shines bright even through his hat. The cowboy groans as he sits up and winces when he turns his head, very quickly noticing the crick. He rubs at the back of his neck and sighs, cursing underneath his breath.

“Goddamn wonderful way to start the mornin’ off,” he grumbles, tiredly pushing himself to his feet.

He fixes his hat atop his head and finally gets a good look around at the woods he had so aimlessly stumbled through in the night. The trees tower above him, branches and leaves of all different types melding together overhead. Many are fading from a vibrant green to rich hues of reds and yellows, signalling the oncoming autumn. A light breeze dances faintly through and the warm sunshine cascades over the ground in beams of gold and white. It’s truly a sight, and Jesse takes but a moment to admire the scene.

After a few seconds Jesse sighs and tips the brim of his hat down slightly to better shade his face. He has a long day of doing absolutely God-knows-what while knowing that he is God-knows-where in this forest. He huffs and partakes in another cigarillo, kicking at a rock.

Deciding that standing and doing nothing is not the best use of his time, the cowboy makes sure he has his essentials and continues into the seemingly endless cluster of flora. He walks until his stomach rumbles, yelling at him to feed it. This would not be such a problem if he had not surrendered his rations to the wolves the previous night only to realise that he is completely unprepared for this.

He also realises that he does not know plants well enough to tell what is poisonous, and consuming any of them without that knowledge defeats the entire purpose of him hiding away in the first place; to stay alive. If he wants to survive, he has to hunt.

Jesse McCree grew up on a farm, but he never was one to hurt any of the animals even for food. He spent his time riding Peacekeeper, his horse and pistol’s namesake, chasing chickens around and sleeping in his bed at night with a dog on his chest and cats on his legs. Despite his almost constant eagerness for a good battle, he hates the idea of that fight being with an animal. But some things need to be done.

\--

Jesse’s eyes are red and puffy from tears that still sting, nose runny and face flushed. Perhaps he could have waited longer, waited until he really needed to eat and had no choice, but it is too late now. His hands are already stained from the rabbit’s blood and his heart weighs heavy. He wipes at his face with the back of his wrist and sniffles. He supposes he would have had to do it at some point, but that acknowledgement does not stop the tight twist in his chest from having killed the small creature.

Most of the day he had milled around, trying to ease his boredom, looking for a decent place to hole up once night dropped again. Now he sits under another nice, big tree as the sky goes from blue to a starburst of pink, yellow, and shades of orange. A small fire crackles in front of him, and he thanks his past self for at least having the sense to bring his lighter. He manages to work up the courage to finally skin the rabbit and try to cook some of its meat, wanting its death to at least have purpose. He is not an expert on cooking, especially so without a stove, but he makes do with what he has. The meat soon fades into a light brown and, though not cooked thoroughly, he decides that it’s good enough and partakes. It isn’t his best meal by far, but he has had worse and it sates his aching stomach for the time being.

Once finished, he lies on his back and sighs through his nose. Leaves occasionally float down from branches and the stars twinkle brightly against the sky’s darkness. If nothing else, the nights here are unbeaten, in Jesse’s opinion. It strangely gives him hope that he can survive here, at least until he can figure out a way to sneak into another town where there will hopefully be warm beds and hot food. Where people do not know the name Jesse McCree. His eyes drift closed at the thought.

Then he feels that sense of being watched again and, out of slight fear and perhaps paranoia, he opens his eyes and looks around. He remains silent, scanning the darkness for any type of figure, be it man or beast. All he can hear is his breathing and the wind rustling through, along with the faint howl of wolves.

Eventually, after a while of Jesse waiting and absolutely nothing happening, he decides sleeping it off will do him some good and gets ready to rest.

Only once the cowboy is asleep does the wolves’ master emerge from her perch. His feet hit the ground silently, his sharp eyes not leaving the sleeping intruder. Many who have come into his forest tried to harm his wolves for game, for their fur, for many reasons that he cannot possibly begin to comprehend, and none of them ever left alive. This cowboy had been afraid and yet did not attack when he had the opportunity. It would not have mattered if he had shot the wolves, of course. They were spirits, entities that were not confined to a mortal’s plane of existence, but the cowboy chose to leave them regardless of the danger.

He kneels down, fingers brushing the cowboy’s cheek. His skin is cold, and he shivers under the touch. He can see the gooseflesh that has risen on the man’s skin. With a small wave of his hand his wolves appear, glistening white mists that trot up, their golden eyes on the man. They understand. They both curl up on each side of the cowboy, wisps of pristine smoke weaving into thick white fur. The sleeping man seems to appreciate their warmth, snuggling closer. Their master’s lips twitch up ever so slightly at the display. He settles nearby, eager to learn more about this seemingly peaceful trespasser. For now, though, he must simply watch from afar and wait for the next day’s light to break. The morning shall certainly be eventful.


	2. The Wolf's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my phone decided to reload on me after I wrote the notes here and I nearly threw a hissy fit, pfft.
> 
> Take two!
> 
> So, it's been a hot minute, huh? But my word count for this chapter increased to almost 3,000, so we're making progress! Woo!!
> 
> I am also planning on entering another writing contest, the Overwatch Amino Pridewatch writing contest, to be specific, and I will, if course, post it here, as well, so keep an eye out!
> 
> Happy Pride Month, everyone! 🏳️🌈
> 
> Now, without further ado, onto the story!

A golden glow pours over the horizon upon daybreak. Jesse can hear the faint chirps of birdsong as he wakes. He yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes before noticing weight on either side of him that wasn’t there before. Now awake and alert, he glances over to see two mounds of snow white fur curled up at his sides. The fear he had felt subsides quickly at the realisation that they seem to be asleep. However, this poses a new problem; how is he supposed to get up without waking them?

“More like dogs than wolves,” Jesse mutters under his breath.

“They are tame to those they feel they can trust,” a voice says. The cowboy’s attention switches over to the stranger, certainly having expected nothing more than a rustle of leaves as an answer. When his eyes land on the body of the voice, his heart nearly stops. The man looks as if he belongs here as he whistles, the wolves parting from Jesse’s sides and instead sitting at the heel of their master.

The outfit is what catches his attention first. Armour of red and grey lie over a green tunic, draped sleeves halting at the elbow to show off a bit of intricate red paint that runs down his left arm over strong muscles JH. Loose brown pants fit for action cover his legs, tucked into red armour-plated boots. A thick capelet of brown fur drapes over his shoulders, almost mixing with the matching headpiece with those sparkling golden eyes. The upper jaw of the pelt tilts down over the man’s face, shielding sharp, dark eyes. His hair is hidden beneath, but Jesse can only assume it is a deep black given the man’s beard.

“So… What’s with the garb?” Jesse asks. He is sure that this must be the man from the legend, but he simply can’t help being a little snide with him. This is especially true at such early hours of the morning as this, when the sun has only just decided to make itself known and wash the land in its bloom of warmth.

The wolf man cuts his eyes at Jesse, piercing through his body and making him feel bare before him despite his very concealing clothing and now very noticeably thick, too-heavy serape cloaking his shoulders. That look sends a silent shiver through his body, the expression alone sending off waves of danger.

“Bold of you to scrutinize my attire when you have metal cogs strapped to the backs of your cowhide abominations.” His expression is cold, but his tone sounds almost amused. Of course, Jesse finds himself playing along, glaring at this spitfire of a man with only the twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Hey, don’t go bashin’ my boots now! Those ‘cogs’ are called spurs and I’ll have you know that they do wonders when you're round kickin’ some assholes in the face.” Wolf-man arches an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed. Jesse huffs. “Tell a Texan he’s got cogs glued to his boots and you’ll get a right whippin’,” he murmurs. He is not from Texas, of course, but even with one visit you learn that born and bred Texans are the true definition of pride. Jesse, of course, picked up a little bit of their sharp tongue during his time living there.

Wolf-man (because Jesse has no idea what his actual name is) scoffs.

“You Americans and your silly traditions,” he sneers. Jesse bites his tongue, opting to not make a similar remark back at him. However, before Jesse can even think about replying, the man speaks again, leaving the cowboy open-mouthed for a few moments before remembering to close it.

“You are intriguing, cowboy, more so than most. Perhaps you would not be against staying in my home until it is safe for you to return to yours?”

Jesse cannot believe what he is hearing. This being is inviting a criminal into his home because, what, he acted like a decent human being? But most people would not have, he realised. Most people would have been too scared and consumed by self-preservation to care about the safety of such dangerous creatures as wolves. He knows he only has two options; refuse and die alone in the wilderness, his body slowly fading away into the elements, or accept and hopefully live to see a hot bath and a nice change of clothes.

“Uh-” McCree replies oh-so elegantly, "I mean… Yeah, sure."

That is how Jesse ended up here, following Wolf-man to his home with his canine companions somehow having disappeared. Their master does not seem concerned, so Jesse doesn't dwell on it too much. The silence is somewhat comfortable, filled in by birds singing and the rustling of leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze. It's serene and quite lovely.

“So,” Jesse pipes up finally, “do I get to know your name, Pumpkin?” Wolf-man seems to bristle at the nickname and Jesse can't help but grin.

“Do not call me that,” Wolf-man says, dodging the question.

“Sugarplum.”

“No.”

“Honeybunches.”

“Cease.”

“Babycakes.”

“I will not refrain from nor regret harming you, fool.”

Jesse can't help but chuckle, shaking his head.

“Sorry, darlin’, I can't help myself. I’m a man with little self control. I see an opportunity to tease, I gotta seize it.” A lopsided grin pulls at the corners of Jesse's lips, the cowboy tipping his hat with a wink when Wolf-man glances back at him. “Besides, s'hard to just pass it up when I have such a handsome fella accompanyin’ me.”

“Insufferable.”

Jesse belts out a joyous laugh, eyes crinkling in the way they do when he's happy, chin tilting back a little. This is the man that is so feared by the people of his village? But then, he knows he must remember, nobody is ever who they first appear to be. Jesse is all too aware of this. He has committed treacherous crimes in his past and regrets them deeply. He’s charming and can get what he wants more than half the time with a grin and a flirty wink, but he isn't a good person. He had decided and accepted this fact long ago.

So who is this wolf wielder? Magical is one word that comes to mind. Sharp. Strong. Ethereal, perhaps. Snarky is a good description, too. He is a man full of sass and smarts, and Jesse finds that he already enjoys this man's company.

They walk. They walk and Jesse's legs feel a soft burn of too much constant use, but he tries to ignore it.

"So," he begins, "I don't think you answered my question, partner."

"What." It is more of a statement than a true question.

"Your name?"

The man in wolf's clothing remains silent. Jesse does not push further. They continue walking.

The sun has risen high in the sky. Jesse pulls a cigarillo from his pocket and chews on the end, not having any on hand to actually light it. For now, the familiarity of cinching it between his teeth is good enough. He doesn't complain about the trek despite wanting to drone on about it, and gets lost in his thoughts until an arm being held out blocks his way and forces an 'oof-' out of him when his chest hits it. They are at the opening of a cave, vines hanging down over the entrance like a canopy. The Wolf-man pulls them aside and steps into the mouth, swallowed up by the darkness after about ten feet. Jesse follows after blindly. He isn't sure when he notices the wolves at his sides again, their prancing determined and powerful. Their mystical, spirit-like bodies provided enough light to see through the winding trails behind their master, who seems to have little apparent problem seeing in the pitch labyrinths.

Jesse clenches his teeth on the cigarillo a little tighter, then grumbles under his breath and picks it away with two fingers to return it back to his pocket. Maybe he could actually smoke it later.

Then, after a few more moments, the canines zip off down past the two men and Jesse sighs in annoyance at the sudden return of darkness. It does not last long, however, when he and Wolf-man come to a bridge, of all things, intricate crimson wood lined with painted paper lanterns. Interesting. Jesse's boots thump on the wood, his spurs jingling a little louder in the cave as it opens up into a large cavern. Incredibly large. Jesse can hardly see the ceiling, if at all, and the space has to be at least an acre around, massive for the inside of some cave. There is water, too, he realizes, peeking over the railing of the bridge to look at the twinkling pool. It sparkles beneath the lanterns' glow, and it is clear enough to see some kind of fish swimming about happily.

Then, within a blink, he sees what it all leads up to: a building, with white walls and crimson supports outlining it like panes on a window, and a deep grey, almost black roof with corners and edges that sloped up elegantly. There are small lanterns dotted around that, too, hanging from the roof's edges and sitting by the two front double doors, adorned with some kind of golden metal embellishment. A few vines crawled up its walls in various places, tying it in with the nature that somehow seemed to grow down here despite the lack of proper sunlight.

Jesse can't believe what he is seeing. Is this even real? Or just his eyes playing tricks on him? He pinches his wrist and hisses at the pain. No, this Eastern looking temple is here, deep inside a cave, cleverly hidden where no one can possibly find it.

Wolf-man leads him to the doors and pulls them open by the ringed handles easily despite the clear weight of the wood, stepping inside. Jesse follows, and the doors shut behind him.

Lanterns and candles light up the foyer, leading into a large common room; at least, that is what Jesse assumes it is. Rice wood mats cover the floor- _tatami_ , Jesse remembers a Japanese friend from distant memories telling him- and on top of them, flat, square pillows. Knee pads, a soft green in contrast with the red accents. Across the room is a katana on display, a large scroll behind it. An arch with more gold embellishing frames the scene, and above it is a beautiful picture. A wolf with fur as blue as the afternoon sky and eyes as golden as the beating summer sun lay curled up around some kind of bird that flaunts a lovely green hue. A type of hawk, maybe, Jesse considers. Two likely dangerous creatures coexisting with one another, finding solace and comfort in the other. It is an odd centerpiece, but no less beautiful. There are hallways that branch out from this main area, but Jesse is led up a few steps past the traditional display (as Jesse passes by he sees that there are a few chips in the katana's blade, dulled and wounded from many years of use. The thought of how many that sword cut down sends a chill down Jesse's spine despite the blood on his own hands) and into what appears to be a bedroom. It is rather simple, with the same tatami matting placed on the floor. A futon sits low on the ground with a short table at its side, a lantern and small, flat bowl of water placed on the surface. The room is a dark gray with smatterings of blue: the blanket over the futon, the detailing on the table and accents on the wardrobe, and a few other small decorations bring a bit of color into an otherwise washed out room. The tatami has even been dyed a matching lighter shade of grey with darker grey borders so its natural pallet does not appear out of place.

Wolf-man removes the pelt from his head and stands on his toes to place it atop the wardrobe along with the capelet, then pulls the ribbon that kept it bound in a low bun. His hair is much longer than Jesse would have expected, reaching the middle of his back. It is dark and shiny and adds even more elegance to an already exquisite man. As if a human stranger is not currently standing a few meters away, the Wolf-man sheds himself of his armor and places it on a stand in the corner of the room. Jesse feels a bit awkward, but does not say anything. The man finally turns to the cowboy, dressed down into his tunic, trousers, and boots, hair tumbling down his back and the paint on his body slightly smudged from the expedition (though some appears to actually be tattooed, but Jesse doesn't want to stare so he can't quite tell), giving him a once over that feels more scrutinizing than it should.

"You look dirty. Go bathe," the man orders, and Jesse obeys happily. Spending even just a few days in the woods has left him feeling grungy, and he's perhaps a bit too overjoyed to finally have hair that isn't matted and plastered to his head and skin that feels both dry and sticky from an inability to wash the days sweat away. He shuts the sliding shoji door behind him and strips bare, then notices the tub, round, wooden and definitely underneath a water pump. No running water for Jesse McCree, it seems. When he spends the time pumping, he is thankful for his upper arm strength, the muscles easily able to take the work with little complaint. Once filled, he slips in and leans back against the rim with a deep, pleased sigh through his nose. Though the water is only lukewarm, and the size of the tub itself is more cramped than he'd like, it is still a tub to bathe in and, well, beggars can't be choosers. There is some kind of soap bar by his hand, likely handmade judging by the not quite even shape and the lack of a brand name. He sinks his head under the water and scrubs his hair with the soap, not caring whether its actual purpose is even for hair in the first place. Once sufficiently scrubbed, he dunks his head back under the water and does his best to get all of the soap out. He knows it isn't the most efficient method of washing his hair and will likely leave it a bit greasy underneath due to an unfinished wash, but he can't bring himself to care. He takes his time washing his body, for once, and finally steps out about twenty minutes later. He spots a towel across the room and runs over to snatch it, still managing to drip a nice wet trail from the tub despite his efforts. He pats himself down and rubs at his hair, leaving it to stick up wildly as he pulls his flannel, dark brown jeans and, of course, chaps back on. He leaves his hat off to allow his hair to dry some and arranges his own bit of armour along the wall since there is nowhere else to put it.

He steps out of the room to see the man gone, and is about to wander around when, speak of the devil, Mister Wolf-man enters the room like he can read Jesse's mind.

"Oh, you are finished. I've prepared lunch," he says politely, and Jesse flashes him a smile. Lunch does sound amazing right now, and his stomach seems to agree by the way it rumbles. The gunslinger chuckles and brushes some of his wet hair back from sticking to his forehead.

"Thank ya kindly. I am feelin' rather hungry, now that you mention it."

"Then we have no time to waste. Come."

Well, who can argue with that?

"Yessir."

Inside what Jesse assumes is the dining area, Wolf-man leads him to a low table with knee pads lined around it. A metal teapot with intricate engravings decorating it hangs in the middle of the table by a stand that keeps the hot surface from touching and wearing the wood, and there are two bowls of food set out. The Wolfman sits on his knees at the table, and Jesse sits criss-cross on the other side.

It is quiet as they eat. The soup that the man has made is foreign to Jesse, but it is tasty and warms him thoroughly. Jesse, normally boisterous and loud in nature, finds he doesn't mind the silence as he eats with this stranger. If he is completely honest, this entire scenario seems like something out of one of the storybooks his Ma would read to him as a child. The memories sadden him just a little, but he shakes it off when he hears someone speak.

“Hanzo.”

Well, that is rather sudden, and the word definitely does not sound like English.

“‘Scuse me, what?” Jesse asks, drawing his brows in confusion.

“My name is Hanzo."

Oh. Jesse felt his lips open into a wide, toothy grin and he looked up at the man- Hanzo- who was looking down at his soup as if he didn’t just drop his name like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Hanzo. Real nice t’meet ya, Hanzo. Just call me Jesse, darlin’.”

However temporary it may be, Jesse feels like he is going to enjoy his stay here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some of the pictures I used for inspiration if you want some more visuals!
> 
> Temple:
> 
> https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/715042701539541075/719717549113212958/cc888bbf0750525f52bf664fd28167a9.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/736x/95/28/d4/9528d455298d02ed338d3a6a841043d4.jpg
> 
> https://byodo-in.com/images/koi-pond.jpg
> 
> Tub:
> 
> https://www.ozmall.co.jp/13800onsen/0051/images/0051_spa_00055.jpg
> 
> https://cdn.homedit.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Wood-unique-bathtub-design.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/8d/ac/e0/8dace01dbca2f00417fc4f4b5aed9b29.jpg
> 
> (Especially the last one)
> 
> Dining table:
> 
> https://www.umami-insider.com/asset/uploads/Japanese-dining-culture-chabudai.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/55/04/bd/5504bd1bc4ca326530ee764876fc3ed2.jpg
> 
> Teapot:
> 
> https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/tl4AAOSwBNdbqU7r/s-l400.jpg
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/44/1b/4a/441b4ac4a3d4c33ba4586af1ca9002c6.jpg
> 
> Lots of pictures, I know, ha! But there's some examples, at least. The rest is up to your imagination to meld and create what all these really looked like!
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you next chapter! 💕


End file.
